Beginning with the Title
by Becki3
Summary: PostWar and rather AU. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. A little surprise for Notty. Remmy gets a cameo as well..


Title: _Beginning With the Title_

Rating: PG-16…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or an of the characters or the song so sue me not for I have little except for this mind in my head.

Other things: …Based upon my other Blaise and Nott fics…except a different conclusion than the one that I'm planning.

Pairings: Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott…

Author's Note: Sequel to No More I Love You's, I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight and Frameless. This is also related to another four fics, set post-war. (Will You Remember, Withering Away, Tenderhearted & Draining Rain). ..This came out rather different.. XD I'm still a bit unsure if it's too much of a leap from the norm.

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"A child?"

The nurse gave a fretful nod. Poor gal, afraid of the man before her, the one she had heard ever so terrible stories about. Oh why had they picked her to do this?

"And how, my dear, would I be the father of this child?" The tone was bitter and almost enough to send her running.

"You see, Mr. Zabini…he brought us the donor samples with the instructions that he would return in four months time to inform us whether to put them in storage or to well…you know."

A flaw in his expression proved that this was news to him. She hastily continued.

"And when he neglected to show up we…started up the process. We hadn't known that poor Mr. Zabini had…passed on so-" He cut her off.

"Murdered. Passed on is much more of a natural process." The scowl he had adorned from the second he'd answered the door seemed grimmer. "So you didn't want to possibly waste space and money storing them."

She winced.

"It does cost an awful lot to keep them fertile and healthy. And we figured that the eh…project could just be terminated if Mr. Zabini had changed his mind about the matter. It still can be if you like, sir, Mr. Nott,. Nor charge and anything, that's why I was sent here…" Sigh, she always talked too much when her nerves were on end. It would be the end of her as well on of these days.

"Stop weaving around the point of the matter. I've heard worse, same with seen and done. What you're asking me is whether or not I'd like you to kill an infant."

She visibly wilted.

"I..um…well yes…"

"No."

The nurse paused and blinked up at the tall man.

"No?"

"That's what I said."

"You mean…that you want to keep it?"

"She or he please and yes."

"Oh…my…"

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This hadn't been the plan. How could they leave a child in the care of /that/ man. But there was nothing that they could do about it.

Perhaps they might create some excuse about needing to visit the child occasionally for check-ups. That way the could make sure that the baby wasn't being neglected. And then, then they could take the infant back. Because it was obviously destined to be mistreated.

Like father, like son.

One of them would just have to find the courage to make such visits. Easier said than done while dealing with Theodore Nott.

There were other ideas. A complication. Poor thing couldn't make it. Terribly sorry. But that would be quite a lot of work and they hadn't the time.

So many excuses about why he was an awful parent. But none solid enough. What have we done?

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A small swaddled child, at times he thought he'd never be allowed to hold one. People tend to fear what they do not understand, including creatures of the dark. He shouldered the bag filled with the infant's necessities and made his way up towards the untended front door.

How crud a method to deliver a child.

Ever the same as he always seemed, he greeted the other a smile.

The oddest stork you'll come across.

"They sent you, Lupin?"

"Mm, I know. Little Red Riding Hood would be scandalized." He took a step forward, holding out his more precious cargo.

The tall man hesitated, hands rising an inch and then falling limp.

"Don't worry, I doubt you'll break him."

"So it's a he?"

"Stop stalling and take him."

Slow, careful, gently, fingers that had been stained with life's last remnants of blood and an arm still lightly marked took the child. A soft tug on the fabric so he could see. The small head covered in dark stringy hair.

Asleep.

"He wasn't nearly that sweet and composed before. At least he was fussy with me. Maybe he'll behave better with his father." The werewolf talked to fill the silence, to let him enjoy the first meeting with his son without making him bother with conversation.

Familiar. A face he had known for so very long but altered here and there. Yes, he could see himself. The bane of his world. But it was how the infant pressed his small cheek to the blanket, seeking warmth. And when one finger, hovering, indecisive, nearly redrawn received a little sigh when trailed along his forehead.

"What will you name him?" Precisely the question he should ask but was unable to resist. Men can't create but they could title. And sometimes titles mean the world and set the path of life.

"Talbot Clay..."

**Fin**


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